Coming Home
by Follyhearts
Summary: This is my version of a missing scene from the Alan Rickman/Kate Winslet movie version rather than the actual book.


The afternoon light fell softly upon the windowsill, filtered through the shadows of tree branches as a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves. Marianne grazed her fingertips over the smooth ivory keys and gazed out past the grassy knoll of Barton Cottage, her eyes scanning the expanse of sunlit rolling hills. A small frown drooped at the corners of her lips as she finally bowed her head and began to play.

She was determined to have the piece practiced and perfect by the time Colonel Brandon returned. Obviously, the joyous happenings and lingering excitement from earlier in the day had proved a great distraction from this task. Not distraction enough, however, to make her forget that his letter promised his arrival today. Marianne was keen to tell him the good news—especially since it some of their more private conversations she had, perhaps, intimated to him some of the heartache experienced by her sister this year. Perhaps it wasn't the kind of confidence that was entirely proper to share, Marianne was aware, but the Colonel always proved to be such a caring and attentive listener. Upon possible reprimand, she would simply have to chalk it up to some lingering effects of the fever.

She briefly lifted her head to peer out the window again. Edward clearly mentioned that the roads were dry, his journey swift and pleasant. Marianne could only hope that the same would hold true for Colonel Brandon. It was the sort of thing, of course, anyone might wish for any dear friend or acquaintance.

Closing her eyes briefly, she measured the notes in her head, her lips parting to match the melody. It was a lovely piece, full of such hopeful affirmations, and the pure, perfect notes from each key lifted her spirits along with the lyrics.

This would become her most treasured possession; she was sure of it. This gift from such a treasured friend.

She was also glad for the music to fill that empty, silent space that suddenly opened up in her days since the Colonel's departure. He, at first, seemed such a quiet, almost reticent man, that it was a slight surprise to discover just how welcome and engaging their conversations turned out to be. He, daresay, was even comical at times—once she became accustomed to that extraordinarily dry sense of humor. It almost gave her a sense of pride now to actually key into his jokes, and grasp that cerebral wit. Marianne always enjoyed a challenge, and quite liked that their discussions raised her intellect.

She remembered how enamored she had been of every syllable that dropped from Willoughby's lips, as if she had never heard words so interesting and enthralling. How no one in the universe could have shared such heartfelt and profound thoughts! It was more than mildly embarrassing to consider now how very willing she was to overlook anything he said that was remotely vain, proud or juvenile.

The Colonel was probably one of the most educated, well-read and well-traveled men she had ever met, and she was sure his vast and varied life experiences could fill a book. Yet he never spoke in a manner that was anything but gracious and respectful, right down to the field workers on his estate. The contrast was not lost on Marianne.

She had loved Willoughby with the simple and foolish heart of a young and naïve girl—a child, really. Those feelings were real and ran deep, but like any well they could dry up, too. Marianne was content to now let her little sister Margaret have the full run of childhood, with all its inherent joys and heartbreak. But she herself was more interested in her life ahead as a woman, a woman more like her sister Elinor.

She already felt different, as if the trials and tribulations of the last few months had changed her in some way. Even her illness had changed her, yet strangely enough for the better.

Marianne was settling into a new kind of maturity, as if trying on a new hat for size, and she quite liked the way it felt. Her fiery streak remained, yet now she felt it contained. It was a sort of revelation, to actually have a modicum of control over her temperament and emotion—without actually giving anything of her unique personality away. Perhaps her sense would never rule her actions as much as her heart, but she was who she was, and did not feel compelled to apologize for it.

Her voice lilted upon the last notes, feeling as if she caught the crescendo just right. It was a shame, really, that Colonel Brandon couldn't be here to hear the finished piece. She would have quite liked to gage his response, and welcome any helpful critique from someone with such a keen ear.

With a sift sigh, she finished her song, her fingertips pressing out the last gentle notes.

"Bravo," said a soft, deliciously deep voice from behind.

Marianne started and nearly spun around in her seat.

"Colonel Brandon!" she exclaimed happily. He was sitting in one of the stuffed chairs in the parlor, reclined slightly as he regarded her with a soft smile. "Why, when did you arrive?"

"Just a moment ago. And please forgive the imposition, but I asked not to be announced. I didn't want to disturb your playing."

"As if your presence could ever be considered an imposition!" she admonished him playfully, and then shifted slightly on the piano bench with a wide smile, not caring what decorum might dictate. "Please, come and sit with me. I feel it has been too long!"

The Colonel ducked his head just slightly with a small grin and then stood, moving to join her. He looked so dignified and tall—had he always been so regal in stature? Marianne couldn't quite remember. Arranging his fine coattails, he eased down to sit at the opposite end of the bench, his back to the piano keys.

"I'm eager to hear of your journey," she told him, her heart suddenly racing—probably from the excitement of the news. "But I also have much to share!"

"Well, ladies first," he responded with a proper bow of his head, though some amusement and—dare she say—affection shone inside his warm brown eyes.

"Elinor and Edward Ferrars…" she drew out the words in breathless anticipation, leaning in just slightly towards him. "Are to be _married_! It turns out he did not marry Lucy Steele, as we all thought, but that his brother Robert did! And as soon as that union was sealed, Edward was on his way here, on a mission to declare his real heart to my sister!"

Colonel Brandon arched his eyebrow. "Well, that is certainly an unexpected turn of events. Though, from what you've told me, it seems an agreeable conclusion for all—even Miss Steele. No future happiness is to be marred by any broken hearts, then?"

"No, not at all!" Marianne assured him, glad it was his concern—but, of course, the Colonel always had such an exceedingly kind soul. "From what Edward related of the story, it seems she had a transfer of affection as well. I suppose it could only be expected, when they originally met so young and only knew each other so superficially. The deeper bond he created was always with my sister, forged even stronger when it began in friendship—don't you think?"

"Yes. I do believe there is an importance in friendship as the foundation to any lasting relationship. If—as the old, unmarried bachelor I am—I even have to right to an opinion on such matters."

Marianne laughed lightly at the wry humor in his words. "Honestly, Colonel Brandon—you make it sounded as if you're positively ancient! Nothing could be further than the truth. And yours is an opinion of unwavering respect on any matter—of the heart or otherwise."

The Colonel regarded her a long moment, his smile still lingering. Marianne felt a slight flush of warmth spread across her cheeks and she glanced down, her fingertips coming to rest on the piano keys. Suddenly, she gasped.

"Oh my! I can't believe my rude thoughtlessness! Here I have been simply overwhelmed this past week by your kind generosity, it's all I could even think or speak of for days, and I neglect to even thank you upon your arrival home!" She turned to meet his eyes with an apologetic grimace. "Please forgive me, Colonel Brandon. I'm afraid my manners do not always reflect it, but I am so, so appreciative. You have no idea the joy you have brought back into my—I mean, our lives here at Barton Cottage. We're so grateful to have such a dear and devoted friend."

"Well, I must admit that it wasn't an entirely unselfish act," he replied, clearing his throat with a tilt of his head. "Since it is probably one of my greatest pleasures to hear you play and sing."

Marianne nearly did blush at this compliment, for the first time fully aware of their close proximity on the bench. But she enjoyed the closeness. Perhaps it was something residual left over from his heroic rescue, carrying her all that way in the freezing, driving rain, but she felt such a sense of calm and comfort in his presence, as well as a thrilling warmth like she had never known. She wanted him near.

"Colonel, could I…would it be improper for me to admit how very much I missed our talk in this time you were away?" She glanced at him again, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper. "I truly love this gift of music you've returned to our home…but it's also a gift to have you back in it, as well."

"Miss Marianne…" he breathed her name out on a soft sigh, and the way he said it almost made her want to cry. "I can't tell you what it feels like to come over the crest in that final hill and see Barton Cottage in my sight. My only hope is that this door…will remain open."

Marianne smiled through watery eyes. "I hold such happiness in my heart today—for my sister and Edward, and for myself. Please know yours is a happiness I truly long for as well. There is no one more deserving."

"I can assure you, my dear…" Slowly, gently, he brought his hand up to her shoulder, the very tip of his finger lifting up a single lock of her hair in a tender caress. "Right here and right now? I am utterly and completely happy."

The gesture was startling in its bold advance and unreserved affection, but felt so completely right and natural in the moment that Marianne could not feel shock, nor was she compelled to draw away.

"And I want you to know I am," he continued, "and will always remain…_devoted_."

With that, Colonel Brandon moved to stand. Watching him, Marianne felt a bit like she was coming out of some sort of dreamy trance. In the distance, out the open window, she could hear the voices of her sisters, her mother and Edward returning from their walk. From the kitchen, she could detect the first aromatic scents of the modest feast being prepared to celebrate the engagement. Yet at the moment, her whole world seemed centered in this one room.

Colonel Brandon gazed down at her, his hat in his hands.

"May I ask, Miss Marianne, if I could visit again tomorrow?"

"Of course," she murmured. "You needn't even ask. I already hoped. But surely you'll stay for dinner?"

He smiled, and placed his hat on his head. "Another time, perhaps. It's been a rather long journey. I feel it's time to rest. I'll show myself out—and will be sure to pass my well wishes along to your sister and Edward on the way."

Marianne only nodded her head and smiled, watching him go. As she turned to gaze out the window, the sun gradually sinking behind the hills in a wash of warm color, she felt he was right.

They would rest a while here, in this moment.


End file.
